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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29928945">Bill Denbrough Must Die</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyboytozier/pseuds/theyboytozier'>theyboytozier</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Bisexual Richie Tozier, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Idiots in Love, M/M, Meddling in the relationships of others, Minor Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Only to fall in love yourself along the way, Past Drug Use, Sharing a Bed, Strangers to Lovers, like someone would need to be tricked into that, pierogi incident, reddiecentric, tricking bill denbrough to fall for mike hanlon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:02:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29928945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyboytozier/pseuds/theyboytozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Bill finally takes him to his place, Richie tries to woo him with breakfast. When a stranger walks into the kitchen, he learns the hard way that romance was never Bill’s intention here, let alone his apartment. </p><p>Eddie returns early from a work-trip to find his suspicions that Bill has been taking advantage of his role as housesitter, and using his apartment to land men, have been true all along. </p><p>It’s not like the two of them could concoct some half-baked plan to teach Bill Denbrough a lesson… haha….unless?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak &amp; Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello &amp; welcome to my first fic</p><p>Just a couple of things:</p><p>- I personally love Bichie and don't think Bill would ever treat Richie (or anyone) this way. But I wanted to write this story and Bill fit, well, the bill. </p><p>-Despite the title and a joke Richie makes in the first chapter, Bill Denbrough is and will remain alive and well. He's just a jerk. </p><p>-Main title from John Tucker Must Die. </p><p>-I'll update the tags/chapter count as I go!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Richie is dreaming of an ever-expanding hallway, the floor rippling out like waves set off by every heavy step he takes. He’s grateful the footfalls behind him don’t amplify the effect, but he knows it’s just a way of making sure he does all the work. Tire himself out, be his own downfall, you know, all of that. He manages to fling himself into an open room, but any shred of relief dissipates quickly, as the resounding </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud </span>
  </em>
  <span>against the door of whatever was chasing him seems to bleed into real life. In real time, his eyes open, startled and wide, to find nothing. He’s still heavily cocooned, yet comfortable, in an unfamiliar bed. His mother used to wonder how he could sleep so completely engulfed by his sheets and blankets, or even smothered by a pillow or two if he really felt the need to burrow. It was a way to feel safe, surrounded. A way to be protected from dreams that sometimes spill over a little too far into reality. Maggie Tozier assumed it was a habit her son would grow out of—almost as much as Richie hoped his dreams would learn to leave him alone. Just awake enough now to lazily explore his situation, he snakes a hand out to feel around the rest of the bed, hoping to land anywhere on the warm and inviting man from the night before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cold emptiness of the bed startles him for a moment, until he hears a muffled shuffling coming from somewhere within the apartment. The blankets that have become an extension of his wild hair, combined with the pillow still sealed over his head, make it hard to tell just where the noise is coming from, but it doesn’t stop him from letting his imagination run. He smiles to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is Big Bill making breakfast for little ol’ me?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie lets the thought act as a buoy, his head finally surfacing from his sea of blankets. With his ears finally clear and his vision improving as soon as he locates and situates his glasses, he can’t help but be a little disappointed. The room is still dark and empty, but it has become obvious that the sounds are coming from within the en suite. The sudden rush of water and the pull of a shower curtain are only additional confirmation. Richie has two options: infiltrate the shower or, do what he himself had just hoped for, and make breakfast for the two of them. Until he can figure out a way to efficiently streamline the two activities, he settles for the latter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With no interest in finding his t-shirt or jeans, Richie throws on a robe he finds hanging over the closet door and quietly pads down the hallway to the kitchen. He takes a moment to admire the photographs that line the walls. The first, set in a gold frame, is of Bill and two other men in graduation gowns, posing high atop the roof of what he could only guess was their college home. Bill is by no means a tall man, but even while crouched in a classic frat-boy party squat, the brunette seated on the lip of the roof next to him looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>small. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The final guy looms solidly above them, his dirty-blonde hair is ruffled from the loss of his graduation cap, which the photographer captured midair flying above them. His grin is proud, like he accomplished more than just good grades in college. By the humbleness of his overall demeanor, Richie would put money on some inspiring self-improvement journey over other typical, booze-fueled shenanigans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie takes a few steps to take in the next set of photos. The compact brunette makes an appearance again and, this time, he lets his gaze linger a bit longer on his face. His eyes are beyond doe-like, deep and expressive, set beneath a strong brow bone. Richie tracks down the sharp lines of his jaw to where his wide smile helps offset the intense pull of his eyes. He’s perched on the back of a beautiful redhead, both absolutely beaming as, if her homemade sign is any indication, they celebrate his completion of a marathon. The next photo features him again, this time solo, accepting some award. He doesn’t have the same smile, Richie notices almost immediately, his face still proud but far more reserved.The final photo on the wall bookends the collection, and features all four of the smiling faces Richie has met along the way, wrapped around each other enjoying a campfire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wow, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie thinks to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bill sure does have his support for his friends on full display. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s pretty fucking wholesome. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Note to self: hang some pictures of Stan and Mike on the refrigerator. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Bittle” Richie purrs as the cat he briefly met the night before comes sauntering up and curls around his bare legs. “Let’s see what we can make Billy Boy for breakfast, eh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes his way to the refrigerator, ready to assess the options. The contents are surprisingly scarce—a few take out containers and the standard collection of condiments lining the doors. It’s the fridge you come back to after a vacation, when you refuse to go grocery shopping the days leading up to the trip, but then also forget to throw out any leftovers the morning you leave. It doesn’t match the lived-in atmosphere of the rest of the apartment, in which the amenities are extremely modern but at every turn there’s a splash of genuine character. Richie’s personal favorite has to be the extensive bell collection—rows and rows of bells of all shapes and sizes, from all around the world—lining the cabinetry throughout the kitchen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, hey, if it’s just that Bill can’t cook, the potential here for Richie is two-fold. He can woo him not only with his capabilities, but with the ingenuity he’s clearly going to need here to pull this off as well. Undeterred, he chances the freezer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah-ha! Bitty, we have take off!” He turns to enthusiastically show the box of frozen pierogies to his companion perched upon the counter. Combined with one of the onions he clocked in a bowl by the oven, his plan is set in motion. He putzes around the kitchen—collecting two pans, a plastic serving plate, a cutting board, and a knife—and then makes quick work of powering through chopping the onion to sauté. He fills the larger fry pan with oil and sets the burner to high in an effort to get this done as quickly and clandestinely as possible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“Ow, fuck!” Richie hisses as his exposed chest eventually takes the brunt of this decision. He foresees the initial </span><em><span>splat</span></em><span>, but when the condensation from the defrosting pierogies seeps into the hot oil, it’s a long streak of sizzles and pops he just can’t avoid. Bittle scurries away after an especially aggressive splatter, and Richie wishes he had enough room to shelter him inside the bathrobe.</span> <span>He pulls at the robe to try and cover himself better and, for the first time, really considers just how tight the fabric is wrapped around his frame. He can’t consider it long enough, though, as the line of thought is cut short along with the shower in the bathroom. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ok Tozier, let’s get this show on the road before we burn the man’s apartment down, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie thinks to himself as he moves the pan with the thoroughly sauteed onions to a back burner. He readies the serving plate on the counter with a paper towel to soak up some of the excess oil. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Given the current state of things, it was not the perfect moment for his grand breakfast reveal, but footsteps can finally be heard making their way from the bedroom to the kitchen. He hopes Bill can manage to find humor in it all and, maybe, even be charmed. The oil in the pan has calmed down some but he’s not about to turn his back on it. To really sell the bit, he grabs a random pot’s lid to throw to Bill for protection. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bill, here quick, shield yourself! This oil hurts like a—” Richie stops short when his eyes meet an unfamiliar pair. Not a stranger’s, but certainly not Bill’s either. There’s a beat of silence, but by the time he places the face, and the short, angry body attached to it, the other man lets out a frustrated sigh— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, for fucks sake,” he huffs as he pinches the bridge of his nose, looking overall disappointed and somewhat vindicated, “I fucking knew he was bringing guys back here.” He turns back in the direction that he came from, his hands gesturing about him with the same gusto of his voice, “ I </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>knew it!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes several moments for Richie’s brain to reboot, all the while tracking the wandering voice that seems to be pacing somewhere out of sight in the apartment. </span>
  <b>
    <em>His</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> apartment! His </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>one bedroom</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> apartment. Where he lives, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>with</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> Bill! </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nervous, Richie’s right hand automatically comes up and crosses to soothe over his heart, where it catches on the risen patch of stitchwork hidden under the robe’s floppy lapel. He finally has time to take the garment in, in all its glory—monogrammed </span>
  <em>
    <span>EK</span>
  </em>
  <span> and all. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eek is right!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Christ,” Richie groans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not quite sure what to focus on first. There was, of course, the crushing reality of what happened with Bill last night. It’s not that Richie has never had casual relationships or even one-night stands before—and sure maybe he’s been thinking a lot more lately how he wants that phase of his life to be over—but this couldn’t all be on him. He would’ve had to get some </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious</span>
  </em>
  <span> signals crossed to be so far off base. Bill has been in his orbit for a little over two months now, often in the crowd the nights he’s on stage at the club and always ready for a post-set drink...among other things. Up until last night, the alley behind the bar is about as far as they ever got. Richie could tell when he was being kept at arm's length on purpose, he’s not dumb, but he’s also never been secure enough to call Bill out on it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So yesterday when Bill joined him at his usual booth, just several hours earlier than usual, and started asking him </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> questions—about himself, his set, his plans for the extended evening, Richie couldn’t help but </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was such a change of pace that, looking back on it now, in light of everything, he feels foolish for not realizing something was off sooner. But more importantly, his own feelings aside, to bring someone else into this? To hurt your boyfriend? Over a supposed fling with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie? </span>
  </em>
  <span> None of this made sense to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scrambling to finish up so he could get his stuff and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>get the fuck out of here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Richie throws the serving plate on the stovetop and quickly scoops the pierogies out of the oil. He’s still holding the spatula when the other man comes bounding back into the kitchen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, man, I—I’m really sorry, I—” Richie squeaks as he subconsciously chokes up on the handle to defend himself. His grips loosens, some, when the man’s dismissive expression has him more confused than anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want any of the details, please,” one of his hands makes a sweeping motion to convey his disinterest, while the other fishes for his phone. He snaps a quick picture of the scene before him, but Richie could swear his gaze lingers a beat on his exposed chest. “I knew Bill was doing this. Just having proof of your existence is enough for me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Knew?” Richie flushes a bit under the attention of a camera, but he doesn’t feel like he’s really in a position to tell this guy what he can or can’t take pictures of in his own home. “How long has this been going on that you’re this calm about your man cheating?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My ma—Bill Denbrough? My man?” the stranger sputters through a crazed laugh. “I may be the longest relationship Bill has ever had, but I can tell you that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>because</span>
  </em>
  <span> we haven’t had sex.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thoroughly confused now, Richie has decided it’s finally happened—he’s lost it. All those nights he woke up to find something looming over his bedside, or slithering out from within the closet, only to vanish when his eyes really focused were mere practice. He’s damn near won the lottery this time, as the dream that decided to stick, the one to hold its form long after he’s put on his glasses is, well, this very attractive man. Maybe his luck hasn’t turned as much as he thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok, Eek, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to hand you this here spatula,” he makes a flashy show of it, like the man’s never seen his own kitchenware before, and hands it over handle first, “and you can give me a nice smack because I am clearly still dreaming,” He leans in a bit to leer and waggle his eyebrows suggestively, “At least that way, where you choose to smack me will be really telling of what kind of dream I’m in so, uh, fingers crossed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did you just call me?” The man’s serious tone works hard to cut through the obvious bewilderment churning behind his eyes. Richie gives himself a moment to appreciate seeing those eyes work in real time, even more intense than the pictures let on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eek!” Richie chirps again, with even more enthusiasm given the other man’s obvious distaste for the nickname and his antics. He turns dramatically to gesture at the insignia above his heart, “You did give me quite the scare, so I’ve gotta say it’s fitting, but the monsters in my nightmares are usually a little more...hairy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other man rolls his eyes as he says, "Eddie. My name is Eddie” He takes the spatula from Richie’s hand, places it down on the counter, and offers his hand instead. “This is my apartment, if that’s not clear by now. I just got back early from a work trip.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Richie,” he accepts the sturdy handshake with a smile, “Nice to meet you, Eds.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, I literally just told you my name. It’s too soon for this,” Eddie chides. “And what on earth was this for?” he gestures to the discarded pot lid Richie intended to throw him upon his initial arrival into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, as much as I wanted Big Bill to be impressed by the incredibly sexy chest scars I got while cooking him breakfast, I also wanted to make sure I was the only one to get maimed before noon.” For a (semi) professional comedian, Richie is still somehow blindsided by Eddie’s genuine bark of a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You better not have gotten my cat involved in this,” Eddie looks around when he realizes he hasn’t seen Bittle since greeting him before he got in the shower. “I’m always telling him he’s too trusting. If he reeks of onion after this, I’m going to be pissed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, he went for a more tasteful scar— you know, like a simple lightning bolt across the eye. Mix that with the pierogi stench? He’s ready to hold his own with the gang of polish street cats that run this neighborhood. I did you a favor, if anything, really.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if one cue, Bittle graces them with his presence once more, completely unharmed, albeit smelling a little funky. He collects his scritches from Eddie, who kneels to meet him. He is still giggling to himself, much to Richie’s delight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what the fuck I expected when this day came but…” Eddie drifts off a bit as he sizes Richie again from his spot on the floor. He shakes his head a bit, as if to shake himself of his reverie, and continues, “Part of me never thought the day would come, really. Even when I’ve come home early before, the apartment’s been empty. But I could just tell.” He’s so caught up in the fact that he’s been vindicated, that the suspicions he’s had for months now are true, that he doesn’t stop to think about what’s out of his mouth next, “They’ve all gotten the hint, I guess. Ha, I mean what else does it mean when you wake up in a stranger’s empty bed?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, only a schmuck would miss that.” Richie’s tone is rightfully bitter. He had been enjoying this interaction a little too much. He had momentarily forgotten that he is just some stranger to Eddie—another faceless </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bill has brought to his apartment. He just happens to be the stupid one </span>
  <em>
    <span>who didn’t get the hint. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, that was, I’m sorry. Could I be more of an asshole?” Eddie mutters almost to himself. He lets Bittle scurry away as he stands and addresses Richie head on, “If anything, I should be thanking you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To this, all Richie could do is stare at him like he has two heads. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” Eddie continues, “I got lucky is all. I literally just walked out of the shower and unsuspectingly into my kitchen. You could be a serial killer! Or a thief! Which has happened, by the way. It was the thing that really amped up my initial suspicions,” his brows briefly furrow at the memory, but then he keeps trying to make peace with Richie. “So unless Bill is already in the trunk of your car and you have all of my valuables stashed under that robe, which I sincerely doubt, I—Christ you’re really stretching it out, huh?” He tugs at the taut fabric around Richie’s arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs because he’s ticklish, but mostly at how quickly Eddie got sidetracked by his arms in his robe—a fact he’s trying his best to not let go straight to his head. He makes some good points, though. If it had been someone other than Richie, Bill could have really inadvertently put him in a dangerous position. Not even just this morning, but down the line too. What if someone Bill has scorned came back to the apartment looking for him? He knows he’s feeling more protective of Eddie than he has the right to, only knowing him a matter of minutes at this point, but he’s also been through a lot in the same span. So, sue him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, lucky for you, I don’t have my car here. So, while Bill </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>waiting at the bottom of the trash chute, I can only carry one of you. As for theft, I planned to lift that pretty bell collection of yours,” he gives his best stage whisper, “but I worried they’d give me away when I fled the scene.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie pulls away with a gasp to be dramatic, but then looks up at his bells and his face contorts. He had never considered that his collection could be at stake. So far since letting Bill housesit he was out a few pieces of crystal that Bill claimed he broke, and a roomba, which inexplicably “escaped.” He breaks out of his worried thoughts when Richie speaks again, waving a hand in front of his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“You were just completely unphased by Bill’s corpse in the trash, but thrown at the mention of someone messing with your bells. Should </span><em><span>I</span></em> <span>be the one who’s concerned for my safety here?” he chuckles as Eddie gives him another playful pat to the arm, “I promise every bell is accounted for. And that, you know, that other thing isn’t true either.” </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, piss off,” but there’s no heat in his voice. He looks around Richie to the stovetop, “If there’s one thing we can agree on, it’s that the most dangerous thing in this room is whatever the fuck you’ve cooked up. Dude, I don’t even remember buying those pierogies.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey now, don’t knock them just yet because, whether you like it or not, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>eating this breakfast. Bitty and I nearly lost our fur over it.” Richie lost hope for a romantic spread when he first opened the fridge, but he was confident that the meal would be appetizing enough. He reaches to the back of the stove for the frying pan with the onions, and gingerly transfers the contents atop the mound of pieorgies. Except when he lifts the plate, only the edges move, coming apart in his hands—the plastic stretching in gooey wisps to stay connected to the rest of the plate. “Uhh—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you…..put that plastic plate on a hot burner?” Eddie asks, a little strained, like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or blow a gasket. “Have we been standing here inhaling whatever shit chemicals come out of burning plastic?”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In his haste to properly eject himself from this apartment and flee whatever wrath he was expecting, Richie had placed the plate on the same burner he had used to sauté the onions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I—” Richie sputters as he tries to salvage what’s left of the plate, scrapping the rehardening plastic off the pilot before it becomes a permanent fixture on this stovetop. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe we can still eat the pierogies in the middle, where the paper towel acted as a buffer? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He thinks frantically before he remembers he did, in fact, just ruin Eddie’s morning. He owes him more than some half-edible breakfast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So...do you have a favorite diner ‘round here?” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Richie treats Eddie to a real breakfast, agrees to a plan, and disappoints Stan. In that order. </p><p>“But, uh, Stan, if ‘getting ahead of this new man business’ means agreeing to a plot against Bill, potentially propositioning Mike in said plot, and then inviting the new man to sleep at my apartment for the next two days then, yeah, I’m way ahead of it.” </p><p>He pulls a couple finger guns and makes a mad dash for the door, just as he hears conflicting shouts of Patty’s excitement (new man?!) and Stanley’s frustration (Richie, get back here!).</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I require at least one (1) Babylove out of Stanley's mouth</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Eddie takes him up on the offer and, after forcing Richie to leave his robe behind, he directs them to his favorite diner around the corner. It’s still fairly early and a weekday, so most of the patrons line the stools at the high top counter, nursing a quick cup of coffee and maybe a muffin before heading off to work. It’s obvious that the waitress who leads them to their table has yet to be relieved from the overnight shift. Trying his best not to inconvenience anyone else this morning, Richie makes a mental note to be on his best behavior. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Impulse control never being his strong suit, he fails almost immediately. The initial adrenaline rush from this morning's events has long since passed and he feels a bit dead on his feet at this point, physically and mentally. As soon as his back hits the cushioned booth, Richie lets out an obscene groan and tries to sink deeper, stretching his arms high above his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, thank you,” Eddie says as he takes both menus from the waitress. “I think we’ll be needing some coffee, please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“On it,” she walks away and gives them a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, the last time I was at a diner this early, I hadn’t been home yet,” Richie admits. “I guess that’s technically true in this case, too, but back then I had a little help to float me through the whole thing,” he gently taps at the side of his nose. “Right now I could fall asleep in this booth.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie gives him a sizing look, like he’s noting some information for later, “I kind of know what you mean,” when Richie gives him a quizzical look he clarifies, “about the sleep thing.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really? Something about you just screams </span>
  <em>
    <span>morning person</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Richie hums. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, usually. But once my boss told me I could head back early, I had the option to stay one more night at the hotel, and I said fuck that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They had you in that shifty of a place? Was it bed bugs or was there like an all night biker bar -slash- steakhouse attached? You wouldn’t believe some of the places I’ve stayed at while traveling to gigs.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie visibly shudders, most likely at the mention of bed bugs, “No, the hotel was fine. And don’t get me wrong, I love traveling. I wanted to be a train conductor when I was a kid, wanted to be on the move constantly. But as I go older and I— well, there’s just nothing like being </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you know? I decided to make the drive through the night. Figured I could catch up on the rest when I got home.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Man, even if you had decided to skip the shower and crawled into bed with me, I still don’t think you would have gotten much sleep,” Richie chuckles lightly. For once it’s not even a shameless attempt at flirting, so it takes him an extra moment to really hear the words again in his head. He begins to sputter when he notices Eddie’s wide eyes and the almost challenging quirk of his eyebrow, “Because! You know, there would have been a stranger in your bed! That’s all I meant. I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I noticed you under the covers, but you were so buried I just assumed Bill decided to crash after taking care of Bittle. If you stayed that way, I probably could’ve gotten into bed with you for a few hours without noticing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The waitress returns just in time to save Richie from completely putting his foot in his mouth. With a moment to breathe, they place their orders. Eddie takes his coffee black, while Richie busies himself with the sugar packets to fix his own cup. He’s thinking about how to dig himself out of this hole when Eddie breaks the silence first. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So...is that what happened last night?” his voice is quieter than before, feigning nonchalance. He looks up from his mug when Richie pauses for a beat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> what happened?” he questions, meeting his gaze, honestly lost. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you go a little overboard, or—? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie’s brain is hardwired to always see the worst-case scenarios, to jump to whatever conclusion confirms his insecurities. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s asking if you’re sloppy, if you have a problem. He’s saying the only way someone like Bill would take you home is if the whole evening was soaked in drinks and drugs. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“—I just know Bill has never been one to pace himself.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie deflates a little, because Eddie’s tone has taken an edge to it, like any bitter thoughts or judgment going through his head have been reserved for Bill and Bill alone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s asking if he treated you right, he— </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, uh, no we didn’t,” Richie is speaking before he can really finish that train of thought. “I’ve been really good, with all of that, lately. I didn’t even drink that much last night. I—” at that moment their unsuspecting waitress is passing by so he flags her down, “Hey! Excuse me, uh, Shelly?” the goal of cutting her some slack is apparently a complete bust at this point, “Could I bother you for a pen, please? I could even make do with a crayon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie and Shelly share a look of mutual confusion, but she relents and rifles through the front of her apron. She hands him a pen that says </span>
  <em>
    <span>WORK SUCKS, I KNOW </span>
  </em>
  <span>and continues on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The turn their conversation has taken has him admittedly tense. He didn’t expect to reach any level of emotional vulnerability during this breakfast with Eddie. Richie’s plans had been quite the contrary. This faux pas with Bill was just going to be another thing in the vault, another bad feeling for him to ignore. But here he is, with Eddie, and Eddie’s asking. He needs something to channel his nervous energy into if he’s going to be able to soldier on. It’s the least he could do. But he worries his go-to move of shredding anything in sight—straw wrappers, napkins, placemats—will put Eddie off. He did make quite the mess in his kitchen already, he doesn’t need more of Richie’s mess than necessary. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok, Eds, which box do you want?” he gestures down to the colorful paper placemat before him on the table. It has all of the classic diner advertisements for local businesses—</span>
  <em>
    <span>INJURED? NEED A LAWYER? CALL NOW! </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>KING DISCOUNT TIRES, OVER 31 YEARS EXPERIENCE!</span>
  </em>
  <span>—screaming in bright colored ink, fighting for space on the overcrowded sheet.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I, what? Are you really changing the subject in order to...” he peers down to inspect the placemat better, “get 10% off at Big Woods Tree Care, LLC?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I promise I will continue talking, just please help me out here. Is Big Woods your final choice?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, Eddie gives the paper one more glance and then nods firmly, “Yeah, it is. I don’t have a yard but maybe I can adopt a tree somewhere in the city.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A fine choice. I like the way you think but, don’t worry, I’m not going to call them.” He starts making some basic strokes with the pen on the placemat, blocking out some common shapes over the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Big Woods</span>
  </em>
  <span> advertisement. He doesn’t look up when he begins speaking again, “So the thing about last night...the thing about last night was that it just seemed...unnecessarily cruel.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t comment, but out of his peripheral he can see him lean forward a bit more and cock his head attentively. Richie keeps etching away on the placemat as he slowly continues, “I was getting ready for my set at the club like usual and, for once, Bill approached me beforehand. I’m talking lights-throughout-the-place-still-on-full-blast early. Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want to be seen with you in public</span>
  </em>
  <span>, lighting. And that was a shock enough for me, but then he started </span>
  <em>
    <span>talking</span>
  </em>
  <span>. In a way we never had before. And it was,” he lets out a sigh as he recalls his embarrassment from this morning, “it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>really nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s eyes are a little too knowing when he looks up. Richie can’t help but wonder if there’s a little more history to Eddie and Bill’s relationship than he’s let on, but decides it’s something he won’t push for now. He’s embarrassed enough for the both of them, at the moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve tried to talk to him about that. For years now, really. He has a way with words and he knows the effect he has on people when he pulls out all the stops,” Eddie sighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But that’s the thing. He didn’t have to ‘pull out all the stops.’ It’s not like he had any reason to think I wouldn’t put out without it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so you and Bill, uh, before?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, yeah, he’s at the club pretty regularly. We, uh, never exactly made it out of the club before yesterday,” Eddie pulls a face at this and Richie gets a little defensive, “oh, cut me some slack. I may be out and proud as a big ol’ bi now, but some habits die hard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie came out to his friends towards the end of his senior year of college, so he spent a lot of his college career keeping secrets or being kept secret. It took another three years before he really felt secure enough to integrate his sexuality into his stage material. So, he gets it. It’s a process and he’s never been one to try and police what that looks like for others. It all just means now he’s in his late twenties, and he still makes his share of mistakes when it comes to navigating relationships, or lack thereof.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was clear he was aiming for casual, which was fine. I figured best-case scenario he just wasn’t out yet, worse-case he was married,” he gives a self-deprecating laugh, “But hey, it’s about time the joke’s on Trashmouth Tozier, right? I never planned on being blindsided with </span>
  <em>
    <span>neither</span>
  </em>
  <span> being the case, and I was being buttered up only to get ditched at a stranger’s apartment!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah-hem</span>
  </em>
  <span>”, the tension at the table is disrupted when Shelly arrives with their food. She reaches over gingerly to place Richie’s plate on the far side of his placemat, so as not to disturb his little art project. She’s pointedly avoiding eye contact when she gives a small, “Enjoy, guys. Let me know if you need anything else.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They eat in relative silence for a while, and Richie’s grateful for it. He’s not used to being so open about his feelings, least of all with a stranger. He’s not quite sure what type of reaction he even wants at this point either. He doesn’t want Eddie’s pity, he knows there’s potential for a friendship to come from this mess. He doesn’t want that relationship to exist simply because Eddie feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad </span>
  </em>
  <span>for him. At the same time, he’s not exactly ready for a Richie-centered solution here. If Eddie—a man he’s known for maybe two hours now— managed to size him up so exactly over a single plate of eggs, and echo the things Stanley has been telling him for years (i.e. his penchant for self-sabotage) he thinks he’d crumble into dust on the spot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometime between starting this mental spiral and finishing his french toast, Shelly swung by the table again and dropped off a taped bundle of crayons, the kind usually reserved for the kid menus. He half-heartedly hopes it’s because she’s just a supporter of the arts and not that she overheard too much of anything. He breaks the tape and starts layering colors over the ink, hyperfocusing on the eyes of his subject once again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I had known I was going to become the new face of a business, I don’t think I would have picked one with ‘big’ and ‘wood’ in the title,” Eddie quips and gestures to the caricature on Richie’s placemat. It’s a highly stylized version, but it’s unmistakably Eddie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t say I wasn’t hoping that that’s why the ad caught your eye,” Richie smirks. “I told you, you had the pick of the lot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Eddie can protest, he raises his hands to his face, using both of his index fingers and thumbs to make a box. He finds Eddie in the makeshift viewfinder and lets out an exaggerated hum, “Are you interested in expanding your brand? With a face like yours we could have half of these shops begging to put you on their ads by the closing bell,” he brings a crayon to his mouth to mime a cigar and puts on the air of a golden-age Hollywood agent who just stumbled upon his next star, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>We could make millions, baby, millions!</span>
  </em>
  <span> ”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie is aware he’s guarding himself behind humor once again, but it gets Eddie to laugh sure enough, “Hmm, I’ll keep that in mind. It sounds like fewer work trips, if they all come crawling to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Even if it’s not, we could sell you and Bitty as a package deal. Put it in the contract: anytime you travel, cat comes too, travel expenses paid in full.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or you could just leave him with me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie barely stops himself from letting it slip. It’s obvious Eddie is upset with Bill, rightfully so. He can’t imagine he will be letting him take care of Bittle and his apartment anytime soon, but Eddie has other important people in his life. He saw the photographs that line the halls just this morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to figure this out, by the way.” Eddie once again pulls Richie from his thoughts. He’s not sure if it’s because it is so early, or the sheer volume of thoughts Eddie ignites in him. He just hopes the other man hasn’t noticed—if he has, he’s yet to comment on it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eds, I hate to break it to you, but I too am just a pretty face. I know nothing about management. I can barely keep up with my own manager.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, not my big break into modeling. I’m talking about the Bill thing. I want to do something about Bill,” his tone was serious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you should absolutely never let him house sit for you anymore, but beyond that what can we do?” Richie thinks back to every movie cliche he’s ever loved and sarcastically throws out, “Make Bill Denbrough fall in love and break his heart?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t need to respond, every thought he could have on the subject written on his face. He leans forward across the table, palms up in an </span>
  <em>
    <span>I mean </span>
  </em>
  <span>gesture, and an inquiring hum escapes his throat. It’s like he knows Richie could never say no to that face and is not even bothering to expend the energy to elaborate on this plan. And, God, is he close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said yourself, he’s not really like that</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Even if he was, where are we going to find his perfect match out of the blue?” Richie asks, trying desperately not to get caught up in some half-baked plan that’s probably going to do more harm than good. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie shakes his head, “We don’t find them, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>make</span>
  </em>
  <span> them.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh really, Doc? You’ve been making a man? With blond hair and a tan? I’m sure he’s good for relieving your—</span>
  <em>
    <span>tension</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he puts on his startling-accurate Tim Curry impression and makes grabby hands across the table, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Rocky!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie is quick to reach out and cover both hands with his, resting them back down on the table. Richie feels like he’s watching the exchange from beyond his body. His skin burns at the contact and he swallows a lump in his throat before looking back up at Eddie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you take this seriously for one minute?” and suddenly Richie is nervous. Eddie is about to become another person he has run off with his big mouth. But he continues with a smirk, “Or to get you to listen do I have to ask if you want to... </span>
  <em>
    <span>come up to the lab, and see what’s on the slab</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Usually Richie loves when someone goes along with a bit, and Eddie’s Frank-N-Furter is not too shabby, but 95% of his brain capacity is still focused on their hands. Luckily Eddie shifts the focus there too. He lightly shakes their intertwined hands and whispers, “I see you shiver with antici—’ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Say it, “ Richie is barely able to croak out as he leans in more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“—PATION!” Eddie cackles, inches from his face. He finally removes his hands from Richie’s and sits back.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a man complaining that Richie needs to be serious, he sure is enjoying himself. There’s a sweet balance to it all though, something that Eddie seems to bring out in him. Because the reality is, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>serious not too long ago when discussing his thoughts on this ‘Bill thing.’ Maybe it’s the key to it all, he’s just needed someone to meet him where he is. Someone who can use humor just the same to get to the meat of a problem. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eds, I’ll do just about anything for a man in fishnets,” he deadpans. He reels it in and, even if he can see this is a bad idea from a mile away, tries again to give Eddie his undivided attention, “I’m all ears, I’m sorry, please continue.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve known Bill since childhood. I know everything about him— all his favorites, his pet peeves, and so on. With that knowledge, we can feed someone all the right things to say and do. Someone so eerily perfect has to entice even Bill.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok, what about physical stuff? We can’t coerce someone into having sex with Bill, and you know he’ll try.” Eddie must have a similar thought process because he’s quick to shake his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s the beauty of it, it’ll never get that far. He’ll be so wrapped up in the game of it all. At first it’ll be because someone can seemingly resist his charm, but then it’ll become less about his pride and more about the fact that he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> the person.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You really are an evil genius,” Richie huffs out around a weak laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well sadly, in this case I am nothing more than the idea-man. I don’t exactly have a lot of friends beyond Bill. Single ones, that is,” he adds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are Lil Red and Mr. Humble Hunk an item?” Richie asks before he realizes how incredibly creepy it is. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, they are,” he looks surprised but not scared, “did Bill talk about us a lot or something?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie lets out a sharp laugh this time, “God, no,” he’s quick to recover when he sees a twinge of pain behind Eddie’s eyes, “I just, uh, I saw the photos in your apartment. Seems like a fun group you’ve got there. You know, aside from the stuff that brought about whatever the fuck this is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I understand if you want to walk away from all of this. I just—I’ve tried so hard, you know? To be a good friend. But he’s gone too far this time. He’s hurt me,” </span>
  <em>
    <span>doe-eyes engage</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “...he’s hurt you.”    </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie scrubs both of his hands down his face and lets out a long sigh. He can’t believe he’s about to do this, “Alright. I’m your guy. Whatever you need, I’m the guy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie scans the diner looking for Shelly, it’s probably time to move things along and collect the check—it’s especially time to make sure she gets a good tip for the end of her shift. Eddie catches on and starts to collect his things, puts on his jacket. He gives one shy glance before slowly reaching across the table to grab Richie’s placemat, ripping off the section with his portrait and slipping it into his pocket. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They settle the check—Richie plays for it in full after a lot of stubborn protest—and leave the diner, only to start walking aimlessly down the block. Richie is creating a mental checklist for this master plan. He’s always had a flair for the dramatic, so he sees a lot of moving parts. Elaborate make-up and costumes for disguises for he and Eddie for when they spy on the action (</span>
  <em>
    <span>do you have to get fitted for a ghillie suit?)</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Or detailed scripts and stage directions for the meet-cute they manufacture and any subsequent dates (</span>
  <span>
    <em>do I know anyone with access to elevator controls? Is a carnival coming to town soon?</em>
  </span>
  <span>). </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He said he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>the guy </span>
  </em>
  <span>for this—you can’t underdeliver on a promise like that. There is only one issue. They need a main character, a star of this production. And he thinks he knows just the leading man…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you think about a sexy librarian type?” he turns to Eddie as they wait to cross the street at a busy intersection. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s so not realistic,” Eddie throws him a look like </span>
  <em>
    <span>you can do better</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s not realistic about a sexy librarian?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What like,” Eddie angles his body to back Richie up against the pole at the crosswalk. He takes his glasses off his face and puts them on. He’s close enough that Richie can still make out the expressiveness of his face as he peers over the lenses and bats his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's trying for theatric, but to Richie his voice goes rough in just the right way, “what’s that you’re reading, big boy? Oh! The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kama Sutra</span>
  </em>
  <span>, do you need some help with your research?” He slowly takes the glasses back off—and Richie imagines if he had a ponytail, this would be the moment he removes the scrunchie to let it fall just right—he places them back on Richie’s face and gives him a playful pat on the cheek as he coos, “Only if you’re good and can stay quiet, of course.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>O</span>
  <em>
    <span> h F u C K.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie then straightens up, drops the voice, and continues on like he didn’t just scrape dangerously close to some of Richie’s deep-seated fantasies. He’s halfway across the street before he calls over his shoulder to Richie, who is still stuck in place, “Actually, I take it back. Bill is a writer, that would be right up his alley.”     </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the actual—</span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie does a quick jog to catch up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok, first of all, wow. Second of all, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow. </span>
  </em>
  <span>When we get a moment of free time, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> be picking your brain for more librarian roleplay. Third of all, if Bill’s a writer then I definitely know who we can ask.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’ve made their way back to Eddie’s apartment. Bill isn’t due check on Bittle for at least a few hours, so Richie doesn’t feel too tense standing around for now, but the prospect of seeing Bill again has his anxiety at a simmer in his gut. He wonders what Eddie will do— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bill isn’t expecting me for two more days. We could get a headstart on all of this, before he even knows I’m back in the city,” Eddie says, his tone casual. His face, however, most specifically his eyes, is inquisitive, almost pleading. Like he’s trying to silently will Richie to read between the lines. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This can’t actually be happening, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie thinks they’re reading out of completely different books right now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll probably grab my stuff, it’s all packed already from my trip. And, I don’t know, head out…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh my god, it’s really happening. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, you know, you—I mean, I know you have other friends and all, but if you wanted to stay with me for the two days...you could. We could really hammer out the details fast that way,” Richie says, complete with an awkward hand gesture to emphasize ‘hammer.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure. If it’s not too much trouble. I mean, I love Bev and Ben, but I’m not sure I want to drag them into this, and they’ll ask why I’m avoiding Bill,” he says before his mouth presses into a tight line and his brows furrow. “At the same time…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead, you can say it. Because I couldn’t agree more,” Richie encourages him. He knows what he has to be thinking. They’ve only met this morning, but Eddie’s comfort has quickly become a priority. He would’ve suggested it himself had he never gotten to it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>know where I actually am…” he drifts off in thought. Richie wants to scrub the hint of guiltiness from his voice, explain to him he has nothing to feel bad about, that he’s not insinuating anything, only being smart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s eyes light up in thought and he continues, “I can swear Bev to secrecy, tell her I met someone, and that I want to take advantage of this little time I got off of work. She’ll understand then. She knows I don’t usually tell— uh, that I’m usually private about these things.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok, cool. Good. I’m glad we’ve got that settled,” he hands Eddie his phone to put in his contact information. Every button pressed keys him up more. “Uh...so, listen. I have a few things I have to do before I head home. Do you want to meet up at the library?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The library?” Eddie glances up in confusion before he laughs. “Oh my god, your ‘sexy librarian type’ is an actual librarian?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, he’s magic. But don’t be afraid to give him some pointers,” he teases with a sly wink. He starts to back up as Eddie heads towards the door to his building. “I’ll text you the info—for both my place and which library. I need maybe an hour or so. Cool?” He hopes Eddie can’t feel the nervous energy leaking from his ears at this point. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles and nods, “Cool.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cool. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>____</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie has to make two stops. Only one out of necessity, the other out of pure coincidence and convenience. A brief visit to Stanley is in order because he needs, most of all, his voice of reason. Stan and Patty have lived in the same apartment complex for a few years now and, at one point in time, Richie lived just a few floors below them with his then-girlfriend, Sandy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sandy was, by any measure possible, the most serious relationship Richie has ever been in. They were friends throughout college—always on the cusp of something more, just never had luck with timing. The planets must have aligned or maybe Hell froze over because sometimes Richie couldn’t believe he got so lucky. Despite all his hang ups and his lackluster track record, everything fell into place and they </span>
  <em>
    <span>worked</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They were that fun and breezy couple and for three years, that was more than enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They broke up about two years ago now. Sandy moved across the country, and Richie moved out of the apartment to downsize. Before doing so, he managed to weasel a couple of his improv buddies onto the lease, so at least the apartment stayed in the metaphorical family. That’s stop number two. Because he wasn’t kidding about the theatrics of this plan, and if anyone would have props on such short notice, it’s improv bros. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Staniel,” Richie can’t help but grin when Stan opens the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Richie,” He immediately angles his body so as not to block the entrance. Welcoming as always. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie passes by him and into the apartment. He launches into the situation at a near-frantic pace, “So maybe you were a little right, and maybe I did have feelings for Bill this whole time—and maybe Bill didn’t have the best intentions. But last night that all went out the window, well I thought so, I thought we fell in love, man. He took me back to his place, finally. But as I was making him breakfast this morning, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely different man</span>
  </em>
  <span> came wandering into the kitchen. Because, you know, it was actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> apartment!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Richie” Stanley’s tone is sympathetic. Where Patty always tried to do her best to be optimistic in her support, Stan was more critical of Richie’s dating habits. It was out of love, undoubtedly. The situation with Bill had been a specific source of concern for him, though, because he could read just how much Richie wasn’t saying. Or couldn’t remember saying the next day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The universe cut me some slack because, no, they’re not together. But now I’m in love with this new man, Stanley! I’m in love and </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s going to kill me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pauses for dramatic effect but Stanley remains nonplussed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow, just him? There wasn’t someone else on the train on the way over here, too? What about Mrs. K down the hall? I know she pinched your cheek and called you a <em>handsome boy</em> as always.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What—what does she have to do with anything?” Richie rubs over the patch of skin where she did, in fact, pinch on his way to Stanley’s door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stan sighs and gestures towards the couch, where they both take a seat. Stan appears to be gathering his thoughts, but not as a means to be careful </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> he says—he will alway be painstakingly honest with Richie—but he is always meticulous about the order in which they address things.   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am sorry about what Bill did to you. It was wrong, you don’t deserve to be treated like that, and we </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> be having an emotional conversation about it next time you get drunk,” Stan begins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How he was wronged was the first order item, as expected. But what was out of Stan’s mouth next was surprising, “But right now, I think we need to get ahead of this ‘new man’ business. You try to hide it, but Richie...you fall so fast.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs incredulously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hello? I’ve had tons of casual hook-ups,” Richie makes a grand gesture with his hands to emphasize the amount. “I’m going to visit Andy and Jason after this, should we call Sandy while I’m at it? She can tell you all about my commitment issues, thank you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bringing up his relationship with Sandy to Stanley is like beating a dead horse at this point. Stan has been his best friend since high school, he doesn’t know why he still thinks he can come up with examples of low points in his life that Stan wasn’t very much present for every gory detail. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sandy got an amazing opportunity that required her to move across the country, which is a huge decision that forced you </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> to evaluate your relationship. You made an incredibly adult decision, Richie, I hate that you still can’t see that. You know Patty is still in contact with Sandy, and she has nothing but nice things to say about you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She shouldn’t,” Richie huffs under his breath, even if his heart’s not completely in it. He knows the silence between he and Sandy isn’t necessarily out of malice. It started as a means to ensure a clean break, but the longer it went on, the more it became about self-preservation. In his eyes, he let her go and, on some level, that will always feel like he let her down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stanley, how does brunch sound? We could go—” Patty’s singsong voice gets louder as she approaches the living room, “Oh, Richie! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were stopping by!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No worries, Patty, I just dropped in on Stan the Man here, as usual.” He accepts the seated hug she gives him over the arm of the chair. She makes her way around the sofa and sits on the arm closest to Stanley, he winds an arm around her waist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brunch sounds delicious, Babylove,” he kisses her cheek. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you coming with us, Rich?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no. You guys enjoy. I was heading out, gonna stop by Andy and Jason’s, actually.” He gets up and starts to make his way slowly to the door backwards, “But, uh, Stan, if ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>getting ahead of this new man business</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ means agreeing to a plot against Bill, potentially propositioning Mike in said plot, and then inviting the new man to sleep at my apartment for the next two days then, yeah, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> ahead of it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulls a couple finger guns and makes a mad dash for the door, just as he hears conflicting shouts of Patty’s excitement (</span>
  <em>
    <span>new man?!) </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Stanley’s frustration (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie, get back here!)</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He doesn’t go back in, he knows Stan will be a phone call away for all of this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jason and Andy did not disappoint in the prop and costume department, though they were less than excited to find Richie on their doorstep before noon. He walks out of the apartment building with two wigs, a fake beard, some mustaches (</span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe eyebrows?</span>
  </em>
  <span>), and a set of false teeth. The last one is mainly just to get a rise out of Eddie. His phone dings in his pocket and he almost expects it to be Stanley, begging him to come back upstairs. Instead it’s an unknown number, but he’s quick to change that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Eds</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hey, I’m getting on a bus to the library now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Richie</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, bus, do your stuff! [gif of Miss Frizzle saying ‘Seatbelts, everyone!’]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Eds</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t think Miss Frizzle was a librarian. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You do kinda dress like her tho </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cackles aloud and sets himself in the direction of the library as well. Excited as he is, Richie can’t help but feel how poor Arnold must have while waiting at that bus stop every morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please, please, let this be a normal field trip!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not a chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for being here &lt;3 </p><p>Stay safe &amp; well</p></blockquote></div></div>
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